


strange aeons

by futuresoon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Horror, Brief Graphic Violence, Horror, I read a lot of Lovecraft as a kid, M/M, Rating will go up, Slow Burn, the body horror is also a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresoon/pseuds/futuresoon
Summary: The line of Lucis Caelum has an old, old secret, when it comes to retainers in times of great need. Which is the greater sacrifice--your life, or your humanity?





	1. Chapter 1

The voice comes on the night after their world flips, the night after their journey goes off-kilter, the night after an ancient weapon rises from the stone hands of a dead man and plunges into Noctis’ soul.

The night is silent, lacking even the sounds of wildlife in the distance, natural or otherwise. If they were awake, they might wonder about that. As it stands, they sleep in ignorance, albeit restlessly. The light of the haven only wards against threats of a physical variety, not the more complicated twists of the mind.

The voice, distant and soft and immeasurably old, says, in three heads, _How much would you give?_

The answers say, quite similarly,

_I already owe him everything. He can have as much as he needs._

_I exist for him. My life and death have always been in his hands._

_That’s hardly a question, is it?_

And the voice says, _Then it is done._

And in the morning they wake, remembering nothing.

\---

The first sign is a few days later, when Prompto feels the skin on his hands itch and burn.

“It’s probably just an allergy,” he says with a shrug. “Some plant that isn’t in Insomnia or something. It’s not that bad, really.”

Ignis looks unconvinced. “If it develops further, it could be an impediment to you,” he says. “Perhaps we should look for a doctor.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” Prompto says breezily. “It’s not gonna get in the way or anything. No big deal.”

At his side, his left hand twitches, flexes, shifting under the skin. No one notices, including him.

\---

Ignis examines their food supplies while the others set up the rest of camp. They’re plentiful, and he can’t quite make up his mind what to do with them for tonight. “Any requests?” he asks.

“How about that garula steak you mentioned?” Prompto says, shoving the sleeping bags into the tent with little ceremony. He lightly scratches his arm afterwards, not really thinking about it.

“Sounds good to me,” Gladio says. He stands up from hammering the tent pegs and stretches, his joints creaking in a satisfying sort of way. “Make mine rare.”

Prompto echoes the sentiment, and Ignis nods, locating the meat and spices necessary for the dish. “I could go for some myself, come to think of it,” he says.

Noct slumps in a camp chair and yawns. “Whatever,” he mumbles, already half-asleep. “Wake me up when it’s done.”

Prompto does, a bit later, nudging him with a “Hey, food’s up”, but Noct is still bleary-eyed when he accepts his plate. He has enough focus left for his own food, but not much else. 

Noct’s steak is cooked to perfection. Everyone else’s is closer to seared, a thin brown layer quickly giving way to an inside that’s not so much rare as barely cooked at all. Red juices pool on their plates.

“My compliments to the chef,” Gladio says. It takes him a moment to remember to use utensils.

Dinner is a little messier than usual, but Ignis doesn’t mind. 

\---

There was never any actual darkness in Insomnia. At nighttime, the streetlights would go on, and warm light shone through windows, and in the commercial areas you couldn’t go a block without at least a few neon signs lighting up the streets. And there was always the Wall, of course, a distant, ever-present shimmer.

Out here, though, is _real_ night. Can’t-see-two-feet-in-front-of-your-face night. No more streetlights, no more windows; just the moon and stars, if you’re lucky, and the flashlights clipped to their jackets. It’s peaceful, in its way, without the noise of the city, but Prompto would trade a lifetime of late-night car alarms for a chance to be rid of the other difference between night in Insomnia and night outside.

One of his bullets lodges in a goblin’s skull. He has a brief internal moment of pride before aiming for the next one, the one bubbling out of the ground not three feet in front of him. Close by, Noct, Ignis, and Gladio are taking care of their share, metal gleaming in the dark as they slice through the skittering monsters lunging at them from all around.

Another shot, and another, and Prompto hears a chitter from behind him, so he spins around in search of the source. The newest goblin steps out from behind a bush, black sludge still dissipating from its feet; he fires, but in the darkness his aim was just slightly off, and it misses the goblin by a hair. 

He curses and fires again, and this time it hits, but--but for just a moment, he could have sworn that the goblin was standing still. For the smallest moment, it looked like it was hesitating to attack.

But there’s no time to think about it, so he doesn’t.

When the battle’s over, he returns his gun to the armiger and lets out an exaggerated yawn. “Man, I’m gonna be glad when this is all done and I never have to see a daemon again,” he says.

His lower arm itches. He scratches it, idly, wondering if potions could work as skin cream. It’s been getting stronger lately.

“You and me both,” Noct grunts. “How far is it to the nearest haven, anyway?”

“At least another hour or two, judging by the map,” Ignis says mildly. Noct groans.

Prompto sighs and resigns himself to a long night.

\---

_Everything_ itches. Prompto’s bones, skin, flesh; he wishes he could just rip all of it off. And he’s trying not to let it show, trying to keep it together, but he’s certain the others have noticed it. He’s not that great an actor.

They definitely notice it when, one morning, he wakes up and sleepily scratches his arm--and yelps in pain, because instead of quickly-fading white lines, his fingernails have left deep, bloody gouges. Not that they look much like fingernails now. 

Lying next to him, Noct is startled awake by the sound, and with a glance at Prompto his eyes widen in alarm. In an instant, a potion appears in Noct’s hand, fresh from the Armiger. He quickly breaks it over Prompto’s arm.

As the sparkling liquid flows over the wounds, they begin to close, but Prompto’s heart is still beating a mile a minute and Noct doesn’t look any less alarmed. 

The tent flap opens, Gladio looking inside, shortly followed by Ignis. “What’s going on?” Gladio asks, before he notices Prompto’s hands and goes silent.

“I, uh, woke up and scratched my arm, and…” Prompto trails off weakly. That’s the only explanation he’s got, and it only covers a little of the situation.

Ignis kneels next to Prompto. “May I have a look?” he asks, his voice even.

“Uh, sure, go ahead,” Prompto replies. His arm has finished knitting back together, but that’s probably not what Ignis wants to look at.

Prompto’s hands are stained black, up through a few inches past his wrists, where the color fades into splotches before returning to his normal skin tone. It looks harder and smoother than human flesh, almost chitinous, with the greasy, sickly sheen of an oil slick. His fingers are long and thick, and slightly curved, tapering into razor-sharp points with no fingernails to speak of.

“I don’t suppose you can think of a reason why I shouldn’t be freaking the hell out right now?” Prompto says, managing to keep his voice from shaking too much.

Ignis frowns and carefully brushes his fingers against the claws. Prompto is careful not to twitch. “I’m afraid I can’t at the moment,” Ignis says. “I assume this is connected to how odd you’ve been feeling lately, but I’ve never heard of an allergy with this type of reaction.”

A sick feeling swirls in Prompto’s stomach. There’s only one thing that makes him different from other people, and that’s--and it’s not like there wasn’t black on his skin _already--_

But of course the others don’t know about that. “It’s gotta have something to do with daemons,” Noct says, staring at Prompto’s hands. “It’s magic for sure, but not _my_ magic--did you get bitten or something?”

Oh. Maybe there’s that. Wait, that’s actually worse. But--“No,” Prompto says, shaking his head. “I’ve been pretty good at staying out of the way so far.” 

Ignis sits back on his heels. “We’ve yet to discover how the Scourge is transmitted,” he says quietly. “It could be that some daemons are infectious enough to transmit through the air. Though why the rest of us haven’t been infected is uncertain.”

The _Scourge._ The big bad evil Prompto’s only read about in books. He’s never seen it in person, he’s never even heard about it appearing in Insomnia--it’s not _supposed_ to appear in Insomnia--it’s supposed to be a problem other people have, far away, far removed from Prompto’s general existence. Not here. Not twisting his own flesh into something monstrous.

“Never heard of the Scourge being in one spot like that,” Gladio says roughly. “Ain’t it supposed to be in patches all over the person’s body?”

“And the transformation shouldn’t happen overnight, either,” Ignis says. He sounds like he’s keeping it together, but there’s a pinched look in his eyes. 

“So I’m a medical mystery,” Prompto says, not really succeeding at trying not to sound hysterical. “Great. Super special. Always wanted to do something cool with my life.”

Noct takes hold of Prompto’s right hand and threads their fingers together, squeezes. “We’ll figure this out,” he says, his voice steel. “I bet Luna knows tons about the Scourge. We’re going to find her anyway, aren’t we? Even if we don’t know where she is, we _know_ she’s alive. She’s bound to send Umbra to us soon. And Umbra’ll probably be a lot faster about getting a message back if it’s an emergency.”

Prompto swallows and tries to think about anything besides how warm Noct’s hand is in his. Fortunately, there’s an easy distraction. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles. “Let’s hope Umbra gets here soon, huh.” But Umbra isn’t exactly on a schedule. There’s no way of knowing when he’ll appear again.

“In the meantime,” Ignis starts, and then stops, like he’s not sure how to finish it. “Well, perhaps we shouldn’t go into the nearby outposts right now,” he says eventually. “If the Scourge _is_ airborne, then the rest of us may be carriers as well.”

As if on cue, Gladio unconsciously scratches his arm.

The faint sound carries in the tent.

“Yeah,” Noct says weakly. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

\---

The good news is that, a few hours later, Prompto notices that the blackness stops a little lower on his wrists than it did earlier, and that the claws are a little duller. The bad news is that Ignis and Gladio’s fingers are starting to blacken and sharpen at the tips. At least Noct isn’t showing any signs yet.

“The Scourge is hardly known to recede on its own,” Ignis says with a slight frown as he examines Prompto’s hands once more. The glistening blackness on his fingers matches Prompto’s skin perfectly.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not gonna complain if that’s what it’s doing,” Prompto says. He’s feeling a little less on the verge of a panic attack now, and pragmatism can’t take that away from him.

“It seems likely that this is an entirely new strain, with entirely unknown effects,” Ignis says. “Tempting as it might be to assume that it is fading, we can’t be certain it isn’t merely going dormant.”

Prompto’s about to respond when he hears a firm bark coming from outside the tent.

Noct scrambles to open it, but the dog on the other side isn’t Umbra, and isn’t carrying a book; rather, it’s Pryna, stepping delicately into the tent with a scroll in her mouth. She drops it into Noct’s hands and sits down on her haunches, black eyes observing the four of them very carefully.

Noct unfurls the scroll and scans it, his eyebrows drawing together as he does. 

“Luna can’t have already known about this, can she?” Prompto asks, leaning over to get a look. 

“No,” Noct says slowly. “This isn’t from Luna. This is from Gentiana.”

_Greetings, Chosen King,_ reads the flowing calligraphy. _I bring tidings that may comfort, or may not._

_It is not the Scourge that flows through your retainers’ veins. You need not fear it; it is of no danger to you._

“To _you,”_ Prompto mutters. “What about _us?”_

_It is a boon, of sorts. It will protect you, surer than any mortal weapon. Your retainers bear a loyalty to you rarely seen, and though they may not remember the call, they answered it nonetheless. Take pride in their sacrifice. Few in the line of Lucis Caelum have had the privilege to witness this._

_It is not an easy path to tread. There may be harsh times in wait. But remember this: all weapons are frightening, but it is their wielders who determine how to use them._

_Blessings upon your journey._

_Gentiana_

Pryna noses at the scroll as soon as they finish reading it. After a moment of hesitation, Noct passes it back to her. She lets out one final soft bark before retreating from the tent, and undoubtedly vanishes to wherever it is that she and Umbra go.

“So, what, we’re _weapons_ now?” Prompto says, in the vast silence. “And it’s a royal thing or something?”

“My dad never mentioned anything like this,” Noct says, staring after Pryna. 

“Neither did mine, and no one knows more about serving the Lucis Caelums than the Amicitias,” Gladio says with narrowed eyes and a flat mouth.

The air in the tent feels…odd. Greasy. Noctis shifts on his seat, unsettled. 

“The letter did say that few had seen it,” Ignis points out. “I find myself more concerned with the _call_ it mentions. I certainly don’t remember agreeing to anything like this.”

Noctis breathes, and it tastes faintly of metal. A far-away buzzing rises in his ears.

Prompto’s claws dig into the floor of the tent, leaving small tears in the fabric. “This is all sounding a lot like bullshit to me,” he says, and the color in his eyes is a little darker than before, and Noctis’ head feels like it’s about to fall into pieces--

_“Guys,”_ Noctis interrupts, wincing and holding one hand to his head. “I don’t…feel so good.”

The building anger in the air evaporates, replaced by worry. Noctis blinks. Everything seems normal again.

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asks, concern written on his features. 

“Uh,” Noctis says. “Maybe…maybe don’t get angry. It kinda.” He makes a helpless gesture with one hand, not quite sure how to explain it. “Feels bad.”

“Dude, you’re bleeding,” Prompto says, eyes wide, and Noctis suddenly notices the sensation of something slowly leaking from his ears. He cautiously reaches to touch it, and his fingers come back bloody. 

Noctis lets out a long breath. He tries not to think about how wielding the most powerful magic of the Lucis Caelums slowly consumed his father from the inside out. “I don’t think it’s just claws, guys,” he says.

\---

They decide to get some fresh air.

Outside, it’s a beautiful day. The sun shines brightly, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature is surprisingly tolerable for Leide. Not too far from the haven, a herd of anaks nibble on some scrub brush. The dark silhouettes of daggerquills circling in the distant sky can just barely be seen. 

They spend a good minute watching the idyllic scenery before one of them speaks up.

“I wish Gentiana’d seen fit to give us some actual details,” Prompto says. “I guess we’ve got some exciting discoveries ahead of us.”

“She was rather vague, wasn’t she,” Ignis murmurs. “Whether that was to avoid further alarming us with unpleasant news or because she doesn’t know it herself, I’m not sure.”

“I wanna know _how_ she knows, if our families don’t,” Gladio says. He rubs at his arm, careful not to scratch too deep with his gradually sharpening nails. 

In the distance, a small group of sabertusks prowls closer to the anaks. “I don’t think Luna knows, or she’d have written something too,” Noctis says. He wonders if _anyone_ knows, besides Gentiana, or at least anyone alive. Or if they’ve been thrown into uncharted territory and have to scrape together on their own.

Prompto stretches out his oil-black hands in the late morning sun. “Guess this proves it’s not daemon-related, at least,” he says. “Since we’re out here in the sunlight and I don’t feel a thing. Well, besides simmering panic.”

The largest of the sabertusks peels off from the group and darts into the herd, sinking its teeth into an anak’s long neck while chaos erupts. The scenery isn’t quite as idyllic with all the screaming in the background.

“It would seem we are free to continue our journey,” Ignis says, though he doesn’t look at peace with the idea. “We’d best keep away from other people until the current effects fade, but if Prompto is the baseline, then tomorrow should be fine. Assuming no new problems arise.”

They assumed they could get a boat at Galdin. They assumed they would already be in Altissia by now. They assumed they would return home to a city no longer at war.

They’ve assumed a lot of things.

After some more quiet, Noctis says, “Hey. You think there’s a hunt somewhere for those sabertusks?”

“Could be,” Gladio says, eyeing the bloody scene. “You wanna see if we can get a head start on it?”

Noctis summons a sword into his hand. The weight of it feels more real than the past few hours. “Gotta kill time somehow,” he says.

\---

Ignis and Gladio’s claws turn out much the same as Prompto’s, and no less unsettling. But they do revert to normal, over time.

The next day, claw-free, they get a decent chunk of change from the closest tipster. No one in the outpost bats an eye at them.

And then they keep going. What else can they do?


	2. Chapter 2

The Chocobo Post is everything Prompto dreamed it would be--at least, once they’ve killed Deadeye and the birds are allowed to roam free again. He can’t help bouncing on the balls of his feet as they near the pens, Wiz genially telling them to pick out any birds they like.

But when they get close, the chocobos squawk and ruffle their feathers and snap their beaks. The chicks cower behind their parents. Wiz frowns.

“Not sure what’s up with them,” he says. “Maybe they smell Deadeye on you. Easy, easy, they’re nice people, no need to worry.”

Prompto’s pretty sure it isn’t Deadeye the birds are smelling.

Noct walks up to a pen and slowly reaches out his hand. The closest chocobo makes a sort of harrumphing sound and watches him with narrow eyes, but at least she doesn’t bite.

“Easy, girl,” he murmurs, just quiet enough that Wiz probably can’t hear. He strokes the feathers on the side of her neck. She seems to allow it. “Nothing to worry about. They won’t hurt you.” A little louder, he says, “Prompto, c’mere.”

It occurs to Prompto that _he_ was probably far enough away that he shouldn’t have been able to hear Noct either, but that’s a revelation to have at a different time. He comes close to the pen, nervous, not sure what to do.

“Try petting her,” Noct says. “Maybe they just need to get used to it.”

With some hesitation, Prompto reaches out and brushes his fingers against the other side of the bird’s neck. Instead of snapping at him, which he’d feared, she goes very still and silent, which…isn’t much better.

He hears a sort of thumping noise, and for a second he wants to turn around to see if something fell, but it keeps going on, harder and faster. _Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum._ It’s a familiar sound, he realizes--a heartbeat. But not his own. It’s coming from the chocobo in front of him, pounding at an alarming rate.

For a moment, he almost imagines he can hear the blood flowing in her veins.

Every chocobo in the pen is staring intently at him, not even breathing, stuck on the precipice of waiting for him to do something. What _should_ he do? They don’t seem like they’re going to attack him, but he has no idea how to get them to act normal again. He’s hardly a bird trainer. He’s just some guy.

Well. That’s probably debatable, at this point.

Awkwardly, he moves his hand to pat the top of her head. “Good girl?” he hazards. “Very nice, friendly, reasonable bird?”

She abruptly lowers her head, leaving his hand in midair, and drops it almost to the ground, slightly spreading her wings. All the other chocobos follow suit. It’s a profoundly unsettling sight, and Prompto withdraws his hand, desperately hoping Wiz won’t kick them out for hypnotizing the birds or something.

Wiz whistles. “Damn, boy,” he says. “You aren’t wearing some kind of fancy cologne, are you? I’ve never seen my birds submit to a human like that. Hell, I’ve only seen that kind of behavior at all out in the wild, where social structure’s a bit more complicated.”

“Uh, maybe it’s my…charming personality…?” Prompto says weakly.

“Or perhaps it’s the hair,” Ignis says smoothly. “They may have mistaken him for one of their own.”

Wiz lets out a barrel laugh. “Could be, could be!” he says. “I suppose it doesn’t matter so long as you treat’em right. Go on, the rest of you pick out yours.”

While the others approach, Prompto glares at Ignis. “I don’t know if I should thank you for that,” he mutters.

Ignis adjusts his glasses. “I’m only doing my duty,” he says. 

They end up with four unsettlingly obedient chocobos, an on-the-house meal of giant sandwiches that Noct could barely finish but everyone else ate with gusto, and even more questions, but they’re getting used to that last one.

\---

That night, while they’re hanging out around the table by the caravan, Gladio jerks his head to the door and says, “Maybe we should talk inside. So nobody can overhear us.”

It’s a sensible idea, so they make their way into the slightly cramped caravan, sitting down on the edges of the lower bunk on each side. “Any new ideas?” Noct asks.

“I’ve been thinking,” Gladio says. “We need to figure out exactly what we can do now, or we’re just gonna waste it. If this shit’s supposed to be useful, we better learn how to use it.”

“I agree,” Ignis says, nodding. “We’re likely to go through more surprises as time passes, and they may not be pleasant ones. It would be best to understand the baselines of our new abilities.”

Noct starts to count off on his fingers. “Claws, the anger thing, the chocobo thing,” he says. “Anything else?”

Prompto slowly raises his hand. “I think my hearing’s gotten a lot better,” he says.

They pause for a moment, collectively testing it.

“Noct, can you hear the birds outside?” Gladio asks. _He_ can--now that he thinks about it, the background noise of the chocobos softly kwarking at each other probably shouldn’t be audible from inside the caravan.

Noct shakes his head, which confirms it. “It’s pretty quiet on my end,” he says, and raises the count on his fingers to four.

“The ‘anger thing’, as Noct put it, is the most concerning symptom thus far,” Ignis says. “Improved hearing is beneficial, and the behavior of chocobos is odd but not dangerous, and the claws went away soon enough, but emotions are not easy to control. I don’t much care for the idea of Noct being in danger simply because we’re in a bad mood.”

“It’s gotta be controllable somehow, though,” Prompto points out. “If whatever this is is supposed to help Noct, then it wouldn’t make sense for it to hurt him whenever we used it.”

Gladio nods. “I’d feel better if there was a way to practice that one,” he says. “But I don’t exactly think it’s feasible to go around making random people bleed out of their ears.”

“Assuming we could even muster the emotion on the spot in the first place,” Ignis muses.

Gladio can think of a few things to be angry about, not least of which is the reason they’d need to practice it to begin with. But it’d be hard to just…get mad, if there was nothing happening, and the only other people around were normal folks just going about their day. 

Normalcy feels a lot more important than it used to.

“I’m thinking tomorrow we should go somewhere out of the way and try to at least figure out if we can control the claws,” Gladio says. “Prompto’s right--this is all supposed to be for Noct. Having a weapon that doesn’t do what you tell it to is worse than having no weapon at all.”

The Amicitias are called shields, not swords. But when it comes down to it, a shield can kill someone too. 

When it comes down to it, Gladio thinks, he’s always been a weapon.

So he damn well better be a good one. And for that, he needs _practice._

\---

There’s a haven a ways from the post, far enough away to be free from any inconvenient eyes. Kind of exposed, like all havens, but people are unlikely to walk up to one if it’s occupied. It’s practically the perfect spot to get a little scary.

Gladio cracks his neck. The four of them are standing just off-center of the haven, a few feet away from the banked fire. Prompto looks nervous, Noct looks uneasy, and Ignis looks as composed as ever, which doesn’t necessarily mean he actually is. 

“Right,” Gladio says. “We’ve got basically nothing to go on, here. But there’s gotta be _some_ way to bring the claws out deliberately, and we’re gonna find it.”

“It’s probably, like, just thinking about it,” Prompto says, shifting on his feet. “Like…go, claws, or something.”

“Or there may be a trigger of some kind,” Ignis says. “Last time, it seemed to happen for no particular reason, likely just to demonstrate to us that it was possible. Perhaps it’s situational.”

“If it’s situational, it’s probably related to combat, and I don’t relish the idea of trying to fight anything out here barehanded,” Gladio says. In his general opinion, the more steel between him and a sabertusk, the better. “So let’s try Prompto’s theory for now.”

Prompto looks down at his hands. “…go, claws?” he hazards.

Nothing happens. 

“Maybe emotions are part of it,” Noct suggests. “Like when you guys got angry. But I guess that’s hard to practice.”

Ignis looks thoughtful. “I wonder,” he says. “Gentiana’s letter said this was happening because of our loyalty to you. Could that be a factor as well?”

Gladio thinks about it. Loyalty, huh. There’s no question he’d die for Noct. He’s already killed plenty for him, too. There are plenty of reasons for it--well, mostly the one. Loyalty’s got some of the same letters. Not that Noct needs to know about that.

Triggers, thoughts, emotions--that tiny sliver of fear whenever something dangerous turns on Noct, still present even after years of training. That lingering pride at the end of a battle that went well, Noct proving himself once more and Gladio being there to help with it. That banked anger the night after Insomnia fell, torn between his own grief and the pain of seeing Noct so lost.

Dying for Noct, killing for Noct-- _anything_ for him, anything that will prevent him from looking like that again, anything to protect the Noct that Gladio--

Gladio looks at his hands.

Black, oily chitin stares back at him, sharp and monstrous and strong.

He glances over at Ignis and Prompto, and sees that they’ve got it too. Three sets of soul-driven inhumanity.

Ignis clears his throat. “Well,” he says quietly. “It would seem we reached the same conclusion independently.”

Gladio flexes his claws. Whether or not they’re a part of him, they’re something he can use, and he’ll use anything he can. “Yeah,” he says.

“…I really hope I can still fire my gun with these,” Prompto says weakly.

“I must admit, I question their usefulness when we still have normal weapons,” Ignis says, turning his hand around to examine it. “I suppose it’s useful in the event the armiger were no longer accessible, but, ah.” His mouth twists. “The only reason the armiger would not be accessible would be if we had already failed in our duty, and these would have little purpose then.”

Just the thought makes Gladio’s claws twitch. Too much of a tell, that; but then, given how much they seem to be driven by instinct, they’re likely not built for subtlety. Suddenly, he has a stray thought. “When did the Lucian kings make the armiger in the first place, anyway?” he asks.

Ignis taps his chin in thought. “During the advent of the Starscourge, if the history books are to be believed,” he says. “A time when experimental magics were seen less as risks and more as a chance for survival. Do you think it’s related?”

“Not sure, but _this_ isn’t in the history books,” Gladio says, frowning. “Could be it’s even older. Gentiana’s letter didn’t say where it came from, after all.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “If this predates the Scourge, it may not even be fully Lucian in origin,” he says. “An alarming thought, but I suppose we’ve no way of knowing, do we.”

“At any rate, it might not be up-to-date on the latest advances in prehistorical technology,” Gladio says dryly. “Should be fun figuring out what else it isn’t designed for.”

Prompto summons his gun in one hand and holds it out to the other, like he’s showing it to it. “Okay, this is a _gun,”_ he says sternly. “It needs _fingers.”_

Noct laughs; it’s the first sound he’s made in a few minutes, in favor of watching them in uncertain silence. Gladio’s soul lightens a little to hear it. Prompto beams, and Gladio thinks, there are many forms of protection.

“Practicing hand-to-hand combat with each other like this would be inadvisable,” Ignis says. “And close-range attacks against actual foes when we have weapons is both dangerous and inefficient. For now, we should focus on becoming able to summon and dismiss these deliberately, and if for some reason there ever comes a less dire situation where they are required, well…I doubt their use requires much in the way of finesse.”

Prompto walks over to the rock wall at the back of the haven. Cautiously, he reaches out to it, and runs his claws down it.

The sound of the rock crumbling as deep gouges sink in is very audible.

“Guess that answers that question,” Prompto says.

Gladio remembers Prompto’s arm, the morning they discovered this, and how bad it looked from a casual scratch, and--well. The prospect of what they could do to an enemy on purpose is a little disturbing. In an era where bare hands were sometimes the only weapons available, they’d have been…useful, to say the least.

The sickly sheen glistens in the sunlight.

\---

An hour or so later, they’ve got it down; it’s not really that hard, once they get used to bringing up the right thoughts at the right moment. Maybe in battle it’ll be even easier, when instinct and emotion come to the forefront. 

Maybe the thought that they can tear someone open with their bare hands should bother them more than it does.

\---

Prompto snaps a picture as Noct dispatches the last of the thunder bombs in a flash of warp blue. He’s got a good roll from the day, even if the morning was a wash between a nervous breakfast and claw practice. Shots of the countryside, of comparatively low-stress battles, of driving and lunch and turning in a hunt that was practically on the way; it’s good stuff, he’s sure of it. Nothing fancy, but ordinary stuff is just as good sometimes. Especially when ‘ordinary’ is in increasingly short supply in his life.

“Looking good, Noct,” Prompto says, giving him a thumbs-up as Noct glances his way and dismisses the sword into the armiger. 

Noct gives a half-smile. “Aw, it’s nothing,” he says. “I bet the shot makes it look cooler than it was.”

Prompto refrains from saying _even a grainy out-of-focus photo taken with a toy camera would look cool if you were in it,_ and instead says, “Whatever you say, dude. How close is the next haven again? I’m starving.”

Noct points a ways into the distance, towards a thin plume of smoke. “Right over there,” he says. “And same. Specs, you got anything planned?”

“I was thinking skewers, with the bulette meat from the hunt,” Ignis replies. “We’ve not much else in the way of ingredients, I’m afraid. We’ll have to stock up in Lestallum.”

Prompto’s stomach growls. It’s been a long time since he was a big eater, but lately he’s been hungrier and hungrier, never quite full no matter how much of Ignis’ increasingly delicious cooking he has. Which--wait, is that a thing? Aw, hell, that’s probably a thing, isn’t it. Dammit. Well, could be worse. He doesn’t feel any particular interest in eating _people,_ at least.

…he doesn’t, right?

Fervently ignoring that line of thought, he follows the others to the haven and tries to focus on the photos.

After dinner, which he managed to not _entirely_ wolf down--it helped that Ignis and Gladio seemed to be having similar difficulty--he brings out the camera for the usual routine of showing everyone today’s photos. They gather around the way they always do, and he starts to flip through the album.

Everyone standing around the haven after claw practice, looking a little relieved; the sunlight reflecting off a puddle showing part of Noct’s face; sandwiches from lunch; a selfie in the car with Noct giving a peace sign in the background and Gladio looking amused; Ignis eviscerating a bulette; the sun starting to go down; Noct finishing off a pair of goblins; Gladio slicing a thunder bomb nearly in two--wait.

“Uh, I guess the light was weird here,” Prompto says, and flips to the next one--Ignis skewering a thunder bomb on a polearm--which…“And here too,” Prompto says a little nervously, but he’s figured it out already. “I’m just…gonna test something,” he says, and snaps a quick shot of all four of them.

He skips past the remaining few pictures, which were of Noct anyway, and they all take a look at the new one: them looking at the camera with mostly puzzled expressions.

And, for Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio, glowing green eyes like animals photographed at night.

“Well, that’s something,” Gladio says.

Prompto drops the camera into his lap and puts his face in his hands. “Guess I’m gonna have to be careful with the flash,” he mumbles.

“Kinda cool-looking, though,” Noct offers. 

“It’s not like you show these photos to others anyway,” Ignis says mildly. “You aren’t building a portfolio out here.”

“I _coulda_ been,” Prompto says glumly. “Man, do you know how hard it is to get an angle on an animal in the dark that _doesn’t_ make them look like a ghost? I have way too many old pictures of dogs and cats that look like they want to eat my soul.”

Gladio pats his shoulder. “You’ll figure something out,” he says.

Man. He didn’t think slowly turning into an inhuman monster would have _artistic_ side effects, too.

\---

The next morning, they head out. They’ve got to keep moving; ancient powers or no, there’s stuff they need to do.

Iris is waiting in Lestallum.


	3. Chapter 3

They’re not quite at Lestallum yet, but it’s within sight range, and Noctis feels…antsy. It’ll be good to see Iris again, to get confirmation that she’s all right; he knows it’s been wearing on Gladio even if he hasn’t brought it up. But he doesn’t know what it’ll be like, being in a big city again, even one that isn’t as advanced as Insomnia. And he’ll have to be _important_ again. It won’t be the microcosm of him and his friends, where the rest of the world seems so far away.

But he has to go there. One more step forward, towards...something.

“Hey, pull over for a sec,” he says, and Ignis glances back at him and does just that, parking the car by the guardrail. Noctis opens the car door and steps outside. He puts his hands on the rail and just stares over the side, at the plains beneath and Lestallum and the Meteor in the distance.

“Is something wrong?” Ignis asks, stepping out to stand next to him. Prompto and Gladio follow.

Noctis shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “Just wanted to catch my breath.”

They don’t say anything about there being plenty of room to breathe with the top down, or that the morning was uneventful. They just stand there with him, looking out at the same view.

Eventually, Noctis lets go of the guardrail. The world won’t stop just because he’s nervous. “All right,” he says. “Let’s--” But then pain erupts in his skull and he doubles over, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut. What--what--

\--an enormous eye fills his vision, and a flash of rock--

Two sets of hands steady him, and he blearily looks up to see the others looking worried. “Are you okay?” Prompto asks. “What’s wrong?”

Noctis blinks slowly. His head feels muzzy. “Dunno,” he mumbles.

Tendrils of fear curl through his mind, cold and draining. The others look at each other. “We didn’t do anything, right?” Prompto asks, his voice a little high. “We were just standing there, I was thinking about the lease on the chocobo rental--”

“It must be something else,” Ignis says, but he doesn’t look convinced. “There was no obvious trigger.”

“Unless it’s something new,” Gladio says grimly. “Nice of it to wait until we were out of the car, at least.”

The weather was verging on sweltering just a minute ago, why is it so cold? Noctis feels like he’d fall down if Ignis and Gladio weren’t holding him up. He can barely think, barely focus through the paralyzing terror coursing through him. It’s overwhelming, it’s indescribably painful, it’s--

\-- _familiar,_ which makes him force enough strength into his body to mumble, “ s’not you guys, sssomething else, so _ssstop.”_

They look bewildered. “Stop--” Ignis repeats, and then his eyes widen. _“Oh.”_ The fear dissipates somewhat, and then vanishes almost completely when Prompto and Gladio figure it out too.

Noctis sags in relief. It’s not gone, but it’s not crippling anymore. “Guess you guys should work on that,” he mumbles.

It rises a little. “I’m so sorry,” Prompto says, panic visible in his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking, I’m _so_ sorry--”

Noctis manages to rise to his feet and brush off Ignis and Gladio’s hands. “It’s not your fault,” he says firmly. “I get that you’d freak out a little. It’s this _thing_ making you guys like that, not you. And this other thing. There was, I don’t know, I saw this eye…that part didn’t feel like it does with you guys. So it’s something else. So if you could relax a little, that’d--that’d be great.”

“You have our deepest apologies,” Ignis says quietly. “Even if it was accidental, we weren’t controlling ourselves. This cannot happen again.”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, his voice rough. “We can’t keep putting you through that. We’re gonna find a way to stop it, doesn’t matter how.”

The fear abates more, but now Noctis just feels his own guilt. They can’t even _worry_ about him without it backfiring--how much must that tear them up inside? Enough, apparently, that they can’t control it completely; there’s still a little curl of fear in the back of his head. How the hell is this supposed to _protect_ him? How is this something they could have agreed to?

“Let’s just get to Lestallum,” Noctis says, tiredness slipping into his voice. “Iris is waiting for us.”

“With luck, we’ll find some answers there about the vision you had,” Ignis says as he opens the car door, guiding Noctis back into the car. “It’s no coincidence that it occurred near the Meteor, I’m sure.”

Noctis lets himself be led and sits down heavily, looking back out at the view he’d been staring at just a minute ago. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds about right.”

Gentiana’s letter didn’t _say_ it was the Lucian kings who came up with this. If it really is as old as they think, the best bet is that it’s the Astrals’ doing.

Noctis isn’t sure he’s too fond of the Astrals right now.

\---

“An actual _bed,”_ Prompto sighs, flopping onto one of the beds in their room at the Leville. “There’s _pillows._ I forgot those even existed.”

“Camping wasn’t _that_ bad,” Ignis says mildly. “Quieter, for one. The streets of Lestallum aren’t known for their discretion.”

True enough, it’s well into the evening and Noctis can hear people talking in the street below, the faint strains of music in the distance, a child’s laughter. He doubts it’ll die down any time soon. “Fewer daemons here, though,” he says. “Always a plus.”

Gladio closes the door behind them and stretches his arms behind his head, cricking his neck. “Don’t get used to it, princess,” he says. “Our budget doesn’t have room for this stuff every night.”

Whatever Prompto says next is muffled by his face pressed into the mattress. Noctis takes a seat next to him and looks out the window at the night view of Lestallum. It’s livelier than the outdoors, that’s for sure. In Insomnia, when he finally got to move out of the Citadel, he lived in a nice part of town, where apartment walls were thicker and streets were quiet at night. He’d never really lived anywhere like this. He wonders what it’s like, to be surrounded by so much life at all hours.

“It’s good to see Iris again,” Noctis says while he takes his boots off. “She seems to be doing all right.”

By which he means she seems to be good at hiding her grief, but that doesn’t need to be said aloud.

“Yeah,” Gladio grunts, sitting down on the other bed. “She’s a tough kid.”

Noctis hesitates. “Are you gonna tell her?” he asks eventually.

Gladio lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding tired. “Not now. She’s got too much to worry about as it is. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll talk to her about it. She’ll probably figure out something’s up eventually.”

Ignis sits down next to Gladio, resting his hands between his legs. “She won’t appreciate you keeping secrets from her, you know,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Gladio says. “But what else am I supposed to do? She doesn’t know anything about this more than we do, and there isn’t anything she can do to help, either. It’d just make her frustrated, and I’m not gonna do that to her now.”

Noctis nods. “It’s shitty, but we don’t have a choice,” he says.

Prompto lifts his head up from the mattress and says, “Sounds like our motto for the past couple weeks.”

Noctis stifles a laugh. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t _stay_ our motto,” he says.

“Don’t tempt fate,” Ignis says dryly, but he looks a little amused too. 

Noctis yawns. They haven’t really done much today, but he’s sleepy anyway. Maybe it’s the comfort of the room, or he’s tired out from the morning. Whatever it is, it isn’t long before he ends up under the covers and dead to the world.

 

 

_Everything is dark. A silent, peaceful night envelops the city. The Wall is a comforting purple shimmer, holding back the world._

_The Wall crumbles, and the sky screams, and the world crashes in._

_Fire fills the streets and crawls up buildings. Panicking crowds are cut down by shadows and stragglers vanish into thin air. The air is filled with smoke and ships and more shadows and more fire, roaring down upon the city._

_Noctis watches it all from the window in his bedroom in the Citadel. He stays still, and silent, unmoving, frozen, unable to take a step towards the screams. He batters at a door in his mind, yelling himself hoarse, but it doesn’t open and he doesn’t move. Around him, Insomnia burns, and he does nothing._

_Something is scratching the other side of the door. In the distance, people cry out. There is so much_ noise, _drowning his senses, screams and roars and crashes and a silken whisper through a knife-edge smile, and Insomnia is dying, and his father is dying, and the world is dying, and he is useless and weak and pathetic and_

_The noise stops. Everything goes dark again. The burning air lowers to a soothing warmth. The world is calm and quiet and still._

_His heavy eyes close, and his body softens. He is safe. Safe and warm and protected and_

_loved_

__Noctis opens his bleary eyes to see the sunlight streaming in through the window. It looks like it’s been morning for a few hours yet, so Ignis must have let him sleep in. He closes his eyes again, just to get a few more minutes, and tries to roll over, and finds that he cannot.

He opens one eye in confusion, and another in realization, as he finally notices the arms wrapped around him and the body pressed against him. Feeling his face redden, he tries to squirm free, but the person behind him doesn’t at all seem inclined towards letting go.

Noctis coughs. Loudly. “Um, Prompto,” he mumbles. “You can let go any minute now.”

A sleepy sound from behind him makes warm breath brush against the back of his neck. A moment later, Prompto practically flings himself out of bed, the covers spilling onto the floor. Noctis sits up and turns around to see his best friend standing several feet away with a face just as red as his is. “Um,” Prompto says, his voice high. “Sorry about that. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear.”

“’s fine,” Noctis mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And now that you’re both finally awake, you can get dressed,” Ignis says, standing on the other side of the room with his arms crossed and looking like he’s trying not to laugh. “Noct, Iris wished to speak with you later.”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll get on that,” Noctis says, getting up off the bed and returning the covers. Gods, it feels like his face is on _fire._ At least Prompto isn’t any better off. 

Gladio’s actually _smirking,_ the bastard. “We would’ve woken you up, but you seemed so peaceful,” he says. “Sleep well?”

Noctis glares at him for about two seconds before sighing and crossing his arms. “Yeah, actually,” he mutters, staring at the floor again. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he remembers the warmth when it ended, and he’s pretty sure he knows where that came from. Even through the embarrassment, he’s kind of grateful. Not that he’s ever going to say that out loud.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” he says. “Try not to make Prompto explode.”

As he turns around to walk towards the bathroom, he doesn’t see Gladio giving Prompto a thumbs-up and Prompto reddening even further and putting his face in his hands.

\---

“So I was wondering if we could go for a walk,” Iris says after breakfast, her hands clasped behind her, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “To show you the city! There’s a lot to see here.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Noctis says, glancing back at the others. “You guys up for it?”

Iris coughs. “Oh, uh, I was kinda hoping it would just be the two of us,” she says, looking a little less bouncy.

“Oh, right, yeah, sorry,” Noctis says, a little helplessly. “Yeah, that. Sounds good also.” He _knows_ Gladio is smirking again. Gladio’s been surprisingly tolerant of Iris’ crush, but Noctis is pretty sure that’s mostly because he knows Noctis would absolutely never do anything about it. Let her have fun for now. She’ll get over it eventually.

It’s just that Noctis is so used to being around Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto at all times, now. He doesn’t think he’s been more than a dozen feet away from them since they reunited at the imperial blockade in Leide, and that was almost two weeks ago. The idea of being separated from them is…weird. And it _shouldn’t_ be; before they left Insomnia, there were plenty of times when they weren’t around. Twenty years should mean more than two weeks.

But it doesn’t, apparently. He’s weirdly uncomfortable throughout the whole walk, despite Iris’ enthusiasm. And he _likes_ Iris; he’s not especially close to her, but she’s been present enough in his life that she’s sort of like a little sister to him. Ordinarily, spending a couple hours walking around with her should be enjoyable.

And yet, when the walk is over and he returns to the hotel to find the others chatting with Talcott and Jared in the lobby, he finds himself relaxing. Them being nearby is just…calming, somehow.

Judging by the slight shift in their expressions when they see him, they probably feel the same way.

“Enjoy your walk?” Ignis asks.

Iris, apparently not noticing, beams. “Yeah!” she says. “Lestallum is so pretty. What about you guys? Having a good time with Talcott and Jared?”

“Talcott was just telling us this story about the waterfall near here,” Gladio says. “Sounds like there could be a royal tomb there, maybe. Want to check it out, Noct?”

Noctis nods. “Definitely,” he says. “We need all the royal arms we can get. Thanks, Talcott.”

Talcott proclaims that he’s just doing his duty, and Iris ruffles his hair. A royal tomb _does_ sound useful, but being with the others again sounds even better. Which is _weird,_ and Noctis isn’t sure if he should bring it up or not.

Eventually, when they’re past city limits and into the wilderness of the riverbank, Ignis must notice, because he asks, “Something on your mind, Noct?”

Noctis frowns. “Kind of,” he says. “This might sound like a weird question, but…was it uncomfortable for you guys when I was out with Iris? Not because of her, but just because I wasn’t there?”

“…yeah,” Gladio says quietly, after a moment. “It was hard to concentrate. I can guess why.”

“Though the fact that it was affecting Noct as well as us is concerning,” Ignis says grimly.

Noctis exhales. “I figured that was it,” he says. “Not like I don’t like you guys, but usually I can handle being away from you for a while just fine. And that was for a couple hours in the same city. What’s it gonna be like if we get separated for longer than that?”

“With any luck, we won’t have to find out until the war is over,” Ignis says, his mouth set in a line. 

When the war is over. That could be weeks or even months, for all they know. 

Still, it isn’t so bad. He likes being around them anyway; it’s good to be with his friends. It might even be a good thing, that he can relax easier in their presence. Does he really _need_ to be away from them? It’s fine like this.

…Noctis wonders if he would have thought that way two weeks ago.

But he’s distracted from that line of thought when Prompto says, in a worried voice, “Guys, not to break up this creepy conversation, but there is a snake the size of a building over there and it’s looking right at us.”

And then he’s got more immediately important things to think about.

\---

The snake the size of a building isn’t friendly.

It’s also tough as hell; they’ve been throwing everything they have at it for a while now, and it _still_ isn’t down. Prompto empties clip after clip into it, to no avail, and the others have been hacking at it with little more success. Sure, it’s injured, but it just. Won’t. _Die._

“Guys, I think a tactical retreat might be in order here,” Prompto calls out, dodging a swipe from its tail. 

“The waterfall’s _right over there,”_ Noct says as he comes out of a warp, dismissing his thrown sword the moment he reaches it. “If we can just finish this thing off--” And he warps back into the fray, summoning the Axe of the Conqueror in a flash of blue.

“Prompto has a point,” Ignis says, his daggers barely grazing the snake while it twists out of the way. “We could come back later, or find a different path. This may not be a foe we can defeat.”

Gladio’s greatsword collides with the snake, leaving a gouge that isn’t nearly deep enough. “Up to you, Noct,” he says, panting. “But I’m with Prompto and Iggy on this one.”

Before Noct can reply, the snake lunges directly at Prompto. He yelps and barely manages to dodge, but it whips back around in an instant, giant mouth gaping open. 

He has precisely one second to think.

He could think about a lot of things--if it’s possible for him to dodge again, if he has enough time to shoot one of its eyes, if they have enough potions to make up for any impending drastic mistakes. Instead, Prompto decides to think about how the Axe of the Conqueror weakens Noct so much that if they don’t finish the fight soon, any attack against him could be disastrous.

In a flash of black, his left hand darts out directly into the snake’s mouth, and the snake makes an ungodly noise as he tears off its tongue.

Prompto drops the tongue and dismisses his gun, and dives right in, one chitinous hand digging into the roof of the snake’s mouth and the other one at the bottom, and _yanks,_ and with a sickening _crunch_ the snake’s jaw is completely ripped off. It flails, making truly horrific noises, ichor dripping everywhere. Ignoring the mess, Prompto lunges for one of its eyes, one set of claws bracing against the snake’s head and one plunging through goopy sclera until it breaks through bone and reaches something even squishier and the snake, with one last frantic flail, collapses.

He pulls his arm back out and, dimly, registers that he is _covered_ in snake goo.

“…good thing we’re right next to a river,” Prompto says weakly.

Noct stares. Ignis stares. Gladio whistles. _“Damn,”_ he says. “So much for only using it when the armiger’s out.”

“My gun would’ve been a lot cleaner,” Prompto says, sighing as he makes his way over to the water. “It was just, I don’t know, instinct or whatever.”

“Prompto,” Noct starts, and stops. “Maybe you should take a look at your reflection,” he says.

Puzzled, Prompto looks down at the river, and sees a somewhat rippled version of what they do--not only are his arms black up through his elbows, but his eyes are black too, the whites completely gone. 

“Has your vision changed any?” Ignis asks, walking over to him. 

Prompto shakes his head and keeps staring. “I don’t feel any different,” he says. The blackness on his arms recedes, and his eyes fade back to their normal appearance. 

“Let’s just chalk it up to more weirdness and get going,” Gladio says, dismissing his weapon. “After you get cleaned up, anyway.”

“Aw, man, my clothes are gonna be all wet,” Prompto grumbles as he crouches down to wash off his arms. “And they stink, too. This dungeon is gonna _suck.”_

“We could wait until tomorrow,” Ignis offers. “The hour grows late, and I imagine we’re all rather tired from the fight. There should be a haven nearby.”

“Sounds good to me,” Noct says, and Prompto was right, he _does_ look worn out. The royal arms really are double-edged swords, aren’t they. Or axes, in this case.

“I guess a rest couldn’t hurt,” Gladio says. He frowns. “We never did stock up in Lestallum, though. What kind of food do we have, Iggy?”

Ignis looks at the snake. “Hm,” he says, thoughtfully.

In the resulting silence, Prompto says, “Well, it can’t taste worse than it smells.”

\---

It actually tastes pretty good, after Ignis gets his hands on it.

In the morning, well rested and significantly cleaner, they head back to the waterfall.

\---

“What do you _mean,_ there’s _another one?”_


	4. Chapter 4

They return to Lestallum triumphant and profoundly grateful that the sweltering heat eases the freeze deep in their bones. That cave was _cold._ Pretty cool-looking sword, though.

Iris claps her hands and congratulates them, but Noctis doesn’t hear it--another wave of pain rolls into his head, staggering him, showing the giant eye--and a face, now--a very _angry_ face--and the long blue spires of the Meteor--

This time it’s Prompto and Gladio who grab him, Ignis being a few feet away. “Another vision?” Gladio asks, his voice rough.

Noctis nods weakly and brushes off their hands. “I’m okay,” he says. He straightens up, and the curl of fear in the back of his head dissipates. They’re getting better at that.

“I think we should find a way to the Disc sooner rather than later,” Ignis says, his eyebrows furrowing. “This cannot continue.”

Iris bites her lip, her eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on?” she asks.

Noctis wants to tell her it isn’t a problem, but the lie of omission they’re already telling her sits heavily in his stomach. “I get these headaches all of a sudden,” he says. “They don’t last long, but I see stuff. I think it has something to do with the Meteor. Maybe Luna, too--if she went there, she probably did something big.”

“That sounds scary,” Iris says, worry written in the turn of her mouth. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay? That looked like it hurt.”

_I’m starting to get used to scary stuff,_ Noctis doesn’t say. “I’m fine now,” he says instead. “Thanks, though.”

Gladio’s hand goes to his shoulder again, even though he’s standing now. Noctis doesn’t really mind, though. It’s warm, and the contact feels nice. “We should get going,” Gladio says. “Is there somewhere we can get a look at the Disc before we head out there?”

“There’s the outlook,” Prompto offers. “It’s got a great view of the whole area.”

Noctis nods. “All right, then,” he says. “See you later, Iris.”

“You better,” she says, with a smile Noctis isn’t sure she completely feels. “Come back safe.”

As they head to the outlook, Noctis thinks, _why am I seeing these things? That has to be Titan, doesn’t it? But why does he look so angry, if he’s calling me?_

Then they get there, and Noctis thinks, _oh gods, why_ him.

The man from Galdin Quay turns around, his long coat swishing as he looks at them with a smile. For a moment, the smile falters--and then returns, wider and oilier. “Oh, this is _fascinating,”_ he drawls. “You are fortunate to have such _devoted_ friends, your highness.”

Noctis feels all of them tense. He doesn’t bother asking what he’s talking about; there’s only one thing it could be. “What do you know about this?” he demands. 

The man shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t feel the need to elucidate you,” he says. “Suffice it to say that I know enough to be curious how this came about. That condition is old magic indeed, dear prince. But I suppose these are trying times for the line of Lucis.”

Gladio walks up to him, hands balled into fists at his side. “We’d _really_ appreciate it if you shared,” he says, his eyes narrow and his voice almost a growl.

The man merely raises an eyebrow. “Then it would behoove you to have something to offer _me,_ in return,” he says. “But I doubt you have anything of particular interest. At least, nothing you’d be willing to part with. No, I believe I’ll keep my secrets for now.”

“‘For now’,” Ignis repeats. “Do you intend to tell us later, then?”

The man turns half around again, looking out at the Disc with his hands clasped behind his back. “Let an old man reserve the right to change his mind,” he says. “There is one thing I can tell you, however.” He glances back at Noctis. “You have the look of a man with vision problems,” he says. “You’ll need to see the Archaean if you want treatment. I can take you.”

Gladio snorts. “You can get us through an imperial blockade?” he asks.

“Oh ye of little faith,” the man says mildly. “I am a man of many talents. I can get you past as many imperial blockades as there are--though I’m only interested in the one. What say you?”

Noctis looks at Ignis. “We’ve little choice, I’m afraid,” Ignis says. “We can’t get through the blockade on our own. But what do _you_ get out of it, if you seem so fond of fair exchange?”

“The satisfaction of doing my duty to the Crown,” the man says with a smile. _“This_ is something you cannot accomplish without my aid. The matter of your condition is something you must deal with yourself.”

“Fine, then,” Noctis says, though he doesn’t at all enjoy saying it. “Take us there. But don’t expect us to let our guard down.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the man says. “Now that we are better acquainted, I may as well tell you my name--Ardyn will do.” He bows. It doesn’t look particularly sincere. “Follow me to the car park,” he says, straightening up. “We’d best depart now.”

And he walks off, coat fluttering in the warm breeze, and they have no choice but to follow.

\---

Prompto doesn’t like this.

Something about Ardyn makes his skin crawl, in a bone-deep way he can’t really describe. He fidgets all the way to the outpost, half hoping that the others won’t notice, half hoping that they will and say they feel the same.

When they pull over and Ardyn suggests, in a manner that makes it clear that it’s not really a suggestion, that they stay there for the night, the feeling just gets stronger. He doesn’t want to be in Ardyn’s company any longer than he has to, and the idea of sharing a caravan with him sets his teeth on edge.

Ardyn gestures towards the convenience store. “I’ll be doing a bit of browsing,” he says. “Feel free to gossip about me at your leisure.”

The moment he’s out of hearing range, Prompto looks at Ignis and Gladio and says, “You feel it too, right?”

They both nod, neither looking pleased. “It’s already evident that he’s hiding something,” Ignis says. “The fact that our abilities are reacting poorly towards him only makes it clearer.”

“If we didn’t need him to get us past the blockade, I’d put serious consideration into leaving him in a ditch somewhere,” Gladio says grimly.

Noct stares at him. “Uh,” Noct says. “That’s…a bit strong, isn’t it?”

“You’d get it if you could feel this too,” Prompto says. “Something about the guy is just _bad._ My fingers are itching, dude.” He unconsciously flexes them. 

“But since we _do_ need him to get us past the blockade, we mustn’t unduly antagonize him,” Ignis says, frowning. “Best to keep our opinions under wraps.”

Prompto wonders if making him sleep outside would count as antagonizing.

After dinner--egg-fried crustacean bowls that Ardyn pronounced ‘truly invigorating’; they declined to mention that the crustacean in question was the size of a small car and nearly took Noct’s arm off before Gladio cleaved it in two--Ardyn leans against the table and says, “I wonder. If I _were_ to give some scrap of information about your condition, would you tell me how you discovered it?”

“Depends on what the scrap is,” Noct says warily. “You go first.”

“Well, then.” Ardyn smiles. “When I said it was old, I did mean _old._ The Lucian kings harnessed it, more or less, but they did not create it. You’d have to ask the Astrals where it came from, but I suspect even they might not be certain.”

Prompto frowns. “The Astrals _created_ Eos, though,” he says. “I don’t think there’s a lot they don’t know.”

“Oh, the Astrals are far from all-knowing,” Ardyn says airily. “But in this particular instance, they can hardly be expected to know something that isn’t from Eos at all.”

Ignis crosses his arms. “Where _did_ it come from, then?” he asks, his voice even.

Ardyn shrugs. “I did say only a scrap,” he replies. “It is a _very_ old thing. What few studies of its origins there were vanished to the sands of time literal ages ago. Now, your turn.”

“They woke up with it a couple weeks ago,” Noct says. “Apparently they made some kind of agreement, but they don’t remember it.”

Ardyn seems to ponder this. “Strange,” he says. “It was my understanding that the agreements were quite memorable. Perhaps its many years of disuse have warped it somewhat.”

“So how do _you_ know anything about this, if it’s so old?” Gladio asks, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice.

“And here our information exchange reaches its conclusion,” Ardyn says simply. “If that’s all you have to offer, that’s all I’m willing to give. I’m afraid I don’t do freebies. Although--hm.” Prompto doesn’t like the look in his eyes at _all._ “I do wonder which one of you manifested it first,” he says.

There are a few moments of silence; Prompto realizes Noct is probably letting him decide whether or not to say it. And, well, it’s not like it’d _hurt,_ and they need all the info they can get, so…“Me,” Prompto says.

Ardyn’s smile is slow and knowing and Prompto _hates it._ “How curious,” he says. “It begs the question of what made you so different.”

“It was just random, it doesn’t mean anything,” Prompto says defensively, ignoring the fear rising in his throat.

“I find that few things in this world are truly meaningless,” Ardyn says smoothly. “Though the meaning may not necessarily be a pleasant one. As for you, I wonder--” He reaches down, and his fingers brush against Prompto’s face, almost a caress.

Three sets of black claws sink into the table.

Ardyn glances down. “Ah,” he says. “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome. But in the interests of fairness, since you _did_ provide further information, small as it was--you may wish to keep yourselves well-fed. Good night, gentlemen. Do get some rest; we’ve a busy day tomorrow.” And he walks off with a wave and another smile.

Prompto exhales. “I _really_ don’t like that guy,” he says. His heart’s beating way too fast, and with a jolt he realizes that Ignis and Gladio can almost certainly hear it. But they don’t bring it up, either because they’re being polite or they don’t want to talk about it in front of Noct. Prompto isn’t sure which is better.

“You’re not alone,” Noct says, his mouth twisting. “I don’t know what his game is, but that was out of line.”

“Indeed,” Ignis says, eyes narrowed. “And concerning. He seemed to already know that the condition appeared with Prompto first, which implies that not only does he know more about it than he’s telling us, he knows more about _us_ than he’s telling us. If we see him again after reaching the Archaean, I suggest we not stand on propriety.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Gladio grunts.

Prompto glances down at the table. His hands are back to normal now, but…“Uh, guys, I think we’re gonna have to apologize to whoever runs this place,” he says weakly.

The table now has thirty not inconsiderable scratch marks on it, in conspicuous hand-shaped patterns. “…maybe if we don’t say anything, they’ll assume it was an animal?” Noct asks hopefully.

“I suspect customers suddenly growing claws will not be their first guess, so perhaps we’ll be safe,” Ignis says, and sighs. “But it is fortunate that I brought a sewing kit, it seems.”

The fingertips of Ignis’ gloves are shredded where the claws burst out. Prompto’s torn between wincing and laughing. “Sorry, Iggy,” he says.

“You’re hardly to blame,” Ignis says, raising an eyebrow. “But perhaps I should stop wearing these, if such a reaction may happen again.” He looks disheartened at the thought.

Gladio pats Ignis’ shoulder. “We all make sacrifices for the Crown,” he says.

Noct frowns. “But what was that about you guys staying ‘well-fed’?” he asks.

Gladio rubs the back of his neck. “We weren’t gonna bring it up,” he says reluctantly. “But we’ve all been a lot hungrier lately. It’s fine, though. Just inconvenient.”

Prompto realizes that he never actually _told_ Ignis and Gladio about it, and he hasn’t seen them talking about it to each other either. But maybe it was noticeable. 

“At any rate, we’ve enough supplies that larger portions won’t be too troublesome,” Ignis says. “I highly doubt it will ever be a problem.”

“Plus he was probably just trying to psych us out,” Prompto points out. “I get the feeling he’s into that.”

“Besides, the emotion stuff is bad enough, but it’d be _really_ counterproductive if something meant to protect me ended up with me getting eaten,” Noct says dryly.

Prompto shudders. “Don’t even joke about that, dude,” he says. 

Noct shrugs. “It’s a coping mechanism,” he says.

And Prompto can’t exactly talk shit about _those._

Gladio just sighs. “All in favor of changing the subject?” he asks, raising his hand.

Three other hands go up almost instantly.

As they talk about something considerably less worrisome, Prompto tries not to think about the one good point Ardyn _did_ have: why, exactly, _was_ he the first one to get the claws?

He isn’t at all sure he wants to know the answer.

\---

When the cliff beneath the royal casket crumbles and Noct falls, Gladio doesn’t even think. Every foot farther away Noct drops makes something deep inside Gladio get louder and louder, more insistent, and he jumps down without a moment’s hesitation. It only settles when he grabs Noct’s hand and pulls him up from the ledge. 

The moment the quake started, Noct stumbled like he was in pain--and Gladio hadn’t liked that at _all,_ had already wanted to pull him away. The something bristled at the very idea of Noct being hurt. Noct being both hurt and separated from them--it wasn’t even worth considering.

Gladio stares up and up and up at the rocky, growling face of Titan and thinks, _you and me, buddy, we’re gonna have words._

Once Noct is standing again, Gladio puts a hand on his back to steady him. He still looks a little dizzy. 

“Goddamn…this is the Archaean?” Noct mumbles, looking at the gigantic figure standing in the pit before them. 

“Seems we woke the big guy up,” Gladio says, narrowing his eyes. 

“He’s trying to tell me something…but what?” Noct asks. His eyes are a little unfocused, and he sounds like he’s forcing out the words. The hand that isn’t on Noct’s back twitches.

“Noct!” Prompto calls down from way, way up. “You okay?”

Gladio and Noct look back at him. There’s no way to cross the distance, not on a rock wall that tall and sheer. Gladio can only imagine what Ignis and Prompto must be feeling right now.

“He’s fine,” Gladio calls back. “You guys’ll have to find another way around. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

The ‘don’t worry’ isn’t an attempt to console them--it’s a reminder. Noct has enough of a headache already, he doesn’t need any of the other bullshit. 

“There’s a path here,” Noct calls, gesturing to their side. “We’re gonna see where it leads. We’ll meet up with you guys later, all right?”

“All right,” Ignis replies, and Gladio can _feel_ the strain in his voice. The distance isn’t nearly as much as it was when Noct went on that walk with Iris, but Noct was safe, then. Right now, there’s no telling what could happen, and Noct is already in pain. Gladio can feel it, like a distant ripple--they’re hurting, too, in their inability to help. “We’ll find you as soon as we can.”

Ignis and Prompto disappear from the ledge, presumably on their way. Gladio looks back at Noct. “Any distance problems?” he asks.

Noct shakes his head. “A little, but nothing big,” he says. “I think it helps that you’re here.”

“Pretty sure that’s in the job description,” Gladio says wryly. “C’mon, this way.” And he heads down the path.

Noct lets out a long breath while he walks. “Damn, it’s hot here,” he says.

Gladio glances at him. He’s sweating, and probably not from the headache. “It’s not _that_ bad,” Gladio says, frowning.

Noct gives him a disbelieving look. “Really?” he says. “It feels like my skin’s about to melt off.”

“…it’s another thing, isn’t it,” Gladio says with a sigh. “Just feels warm to me.”

Noct snorts. “Aren’t you lucky,” he says. 

The trek down the path is treacherous, filled with loose rocks and flames shooting up from the ground. In the distance, Titan watches them, his expression severe but his thoughts impossible to tell. Gladio thinks back to what Ardyn said, about asking the Astrals. Well, this one’s not saying much.

The phone call from Ignis alerting them to the Imperial presence doesn’t do anything for Noct’s mood. It doesn’t take long at all to defeat the group of MTs, but Noct’s sweating more and stumbling by the end of it, and Gladio grabs his shoulder to steady him again. Titan still watches, implacable.

Noct glares up at the giant figure. “Hey, I’m here!” he shouts. 

And Titan responds, sort of--in another incomprehensible growl, the speech of the Astrals still beyond human ears. Noct bends double, clutching at his head with a hoarse cry.

That’s enough. _“Hey!”_ Gladio yells, looking straight at Titan while he holds onto Noct. “He can’t understand a word you’re saying! Do you want him here or not? Fucking with him like this isn’t doing a damn thing for anybody! _What do you want, dammit?”_

Titan’s gaze turns to Gladio. He just growls again, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, I figured,” Gladio mutters. “Too big and important to explain yourself, huh.”

A gigantic stone fist rises and slams into the ledge, smashing it to pieces, and Noct almost slips out of Gladio’s hands as the rock beneath them crumbles and they start to fall. It’s not a short fall, either--Gladio braces for impact and hopes they have enough potions--

Noct wraps one arm around Gladio’s waist and throws a sword at the ground with another, and Gladio experiences the stomach-twisting sensation of a warp. _Well, whatever works,_ he thinks as they land safely and Noct lets go. 

He glances up to see one of Titan’s feet descending onto them. With a growl of his own, he grabs Noct’s arm and runs up the new path, cursing under his breath every time Titan takes another swing at them. 

He helps Noct up another ledge, but Titan just keeps coming, his palm crashing through the rocks behind them in one continuous push. They reach a cliff edge--and Noct grabs Gladio again for another warp, this time to the cliff on the other side, much too far to jump.

As they find their footing and break into another run, Titan’s fist comes crashing down on them again. In a flash of blue, they each summon a greatsword, holding back the gigantic hand as best they can. Gladio’s amazed it even works--but then, he’s kinda surprised they’re even still alive at this point, if a god is trying to kill them.

Titan pulls back, and Gladio takes stock of the situation. Even if they manage to find a way out of the Disc without getting smashed, they’ll just be back where they started--no answers as to why Titan wanted Noct here, no explanation for the pain or the earthquakes. They’re here for a reason, even if they don’t know what it is yet. And, well, when you’re being attacked, there are really only two things you can do: try to run, or try to fight back.

Swords seemed to do okay at blocking. Maybe they’ll do okay at hitting, too.

“We have to fight him!” Gladio shouts over the noise of the crumbling rock and Titan’s growling speech. “Go for the hand!”

Noct nods. With Titan’s next swing, they dodge out of the way and summon their swords, and charge for the hand while it’s still within reach. It even seems to work--sure, it feels like they’re just hacking away at stone, but Titan’s growls grow louder, like he doesn’t like what they’re doing. That sounds like a good thing, in Gladio’s opinion.

A familiar voice rings out. “Did you miss us?” Prompto calls, as he and Ignis run towards them across the field of rock.

Gladio can hear the relief in his voice--they’re back where they’re supposed to be, and Noct looks okay, albeit sweaty and frustrated. “You guys took your time, huh,” he says, not really meaning it, and knowing that they won’t take it personally.

“Apologies,” Ignis says, looking up at Titan. “It wasn’t an easy trip, and we’re not alone.”

“Think those imperial soldiers just wanna say hi?” Prompto asks, nervously glancing towards the sky above the direction they came from, which is rapidly filling with dropships. 

A host of MTs is setting up what look like harpoons of some kind. Gladio grits his teeth. He doesn’t know what they’re here for, but it can’t be anything good. Still, they’ve got their own shit to deal with right now.

Noct warp-strikes Titan’s arm, provoking another growl. Prompto’s eyes widen a little. “Are we seriously fighting the _Archaean?”_ he asks.

“You got a better idea?” Noct asks grimly, and pulls off another warp-strike.

Ignis looks thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, we may,” he says. “On our way here, we took note of the terrain--” He pauses to skewer an MT on his lance, and continues. “And given the proliferation of fire, thought that ice magic may be of use. There are some flasks in the armiger. If we each take one--” Another nearby MT drops its harpoon as he pulls his daggers out of its throat. “--then we may have some actual impact.”

“Sounds good to me,” Gladio says, and summons an icy flask from the armiger. Ignis and Prompto follow suit. Noct is still hacking at one of Titan’s arms, but with a target that big, friendly fire isn’t likely. They take aim and throw as hard as they can--and Titan’s arm falls still, frozen solid. Titan’s growls grow even louder.

As one, they dive to attack, clashing their weapons against the ice. The royal arms swirl around Noct, plunging again and again, and--the arm shatters, and Titan falls, the icy stump of his arm pressing into the rocky ground.

“Hey, we all still here?” Noct asks, looking around.

“Yup, still here,” Gladio says. He dismisses his weapon and looks at Titan. The big guy’s a lot quieter than he expected for someone who just lost an arm. He doesn’t like it.

“If a little battered,” Ignis says mildly, looking over their own kinda frosty bodies. Magic flasks aren’t known for a small blast radius.

“Does this mean it’s over?” Prompto asks, sounding equally hopeful and uncertain.

_Nope,_ Gladio thinks, as Titan rises up and says something incomprehensible, glaring down at Noct.

“What--what is it now?” Noct cries, his voice haggard again, putting one hand to his head, and Gladio wants to punch something.

Part of him wants to take Noct away from here, somewhere safe and peaceful where Noct wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again, but the more practical majority of him knows that’s impossible. Even if there was somewhere to go in the first place, Noct has shit to do. There won’t _be_ anywhere peaceful if Noct doesn’t end the war. Safety can come later. Gladio knows this.

But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

The air around Titan lights up as he roars, sprays of golden light swirling like dust motes in the sun, around him and then around Noct, too, who stumbles for a second but rights himself before Gladio or the others can reach him. He looks up at Titan, eyes wide. “That was…Luna,” he says. “You spoke with her? That’s why--”

The ground rumbles, and Noct is unsteady on his feet again. Gladio and Ignis grab him at the same time, holding him up while Titan glows gold and slowly disintegrates, letting the Meteor come crashing into the ground. 

Lava spurts out all over, and the ground keeps shaking hard enough that they can barely stand. They can’t stay here, but there’s no way out--every path is blocked by fallen rocks and fire--the air is superheating, and the lava is much too close--unless something happens, they’re going to--Noct is going to--

The air whips around them as an imperial dropship slowly descends from the sky. 

“The Empire?” Ignis says, disbelieving. “Now?”

As the lava continues to spray into the air, the dropship opens up, revealing an interior devoid of any MTs--but with one figure standing at the edge, smiling down at them in a way that makes Gladio’s fingers itch.

Ardyn leans down. “Fancy meeting you here!” he calls out. “It occurs to me, I never formally introduced myself. Izunia. Ardyn Izunia.”

Ignis stiffens. “Imperial Chancellor Izunia?” he demands. Gladio grits his teeth--he _knew_ something was off, they all did, and now they’ve found out why.

Ardyn bows. “At your service,” he says. “And more importantly, to your aid.” As he straightens, he stretches out his arms like a circus showman. “I guarantee your safe passage,” he says. “Though you’re always welcome to take your chances down there. Buried among the rubble, is it?”

Noct doesn’t say anything, but Gladio can read the frustration in his clenched fists.

“Dying here is not an option,” Ignis says, though he doesn’t look much happier. “We have no choice, Noct.”

“…I know,” Noct says, and looks at Ardyn with a hard expression. “Fine,” he shouts. “We accept your offer.”

“Then welcome aboard, your highness,” Ardyn drawls. The dropship lowers enough that they can walk inside, and then it rises up into the air, the exit closing behind them with the finality of a prison door.

_Out of the frying pan,_ Gladio thinks grimly.

For just an instant, his fingernails sharpen.


	5. Chapter 5

The dropship’s interior is all sterile gray metal and hard angles, with no embellishment or sign that it was ever meant to contain humans; just benches embedded into the walls, likely intended for MTs to sit in before deployment. At the far end, a door separates the main area from what is presumably the cockpit. Not many Lucians have ever seen the inside of an imperial dropship. Ignis doesn’t particularly care to be one of them.

There’s a chair in the middle of the main area, but it clearly doesn’t belong there, given that it looks vaguely comfortable and is brown rather than gray. Ardyn sits down on it and gestures towards the benches. “Please, take a seat,” he says. “The journey will take a measure of time.”

They sit down, warily. It’s exactly as uncomfortable as Ignis expected, but sitting next to Noct is slightly soothing. Gladio and Prompto must agree; neither of them sit on the opposite bench, just on Noct’s other side. “Where are you taking us, anyway?” Noct asks.

“Does the exact location matter?” Ardyn asks mildly. “Away from certain death. I would have thought that was the most important aspect.”

Noct clenches his hands on top of his thighs. “For all I know, you’re planning on going to the Empire,” he says. “So yeah, I’d like an exact location.”

Ardyn waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “Somewhere in Duscae will do. I haven’t quite decided where. The middle of nowhere is tempting, but evening will soon be upon us, and I’ve no wish to see you beset upon by daemons before you can reach a settlement.”

“How kind of you,” Noct says icily.

Ignis can feel the stress radiating off of all of them. They’ve become proficient in not letting it spill over into Noct, but the three of them don’t seem to get overloaded the same way he does, and so they haven’t bothered trying to block it off from each other. Perhaps they will later. Right now, it is almost comforting to know how deeply they are in agreement.

Except Prompto. It is concerning that he seems to be even more anxious than they are. Ardyn did have that effect on him earlier, at the caravan, and time hasn’t lessened it any. Tentatively, Ignis tries to reach out. They haven’t had any success in sharing specific thoughts, or even positive emotions of any sort, but perhaps a flicker of concern will make it through. Not something inherently relaxing, but at least a reminder that there are people who dislike his unhappiness.

It seems to; Prompto exhales, and briefly glances over to him. Prompto’s expression hasn’t changed any, but the stress lowers very slightly, and that’s better than nothing.

Small favors: Ardyn doesn’t seem to have noticed. “And in exchange for my kindness, a question,” he says. “How did the Archaean react, upon seeing the three of you?”

“Couldn’t tell,” Gladio says shortly. “It was Noct he was after.”

Ardyn sighs and leans back in his chair, clasping his hands over his stomach. “A pity,” he says. “In less eventful circumstances, it could have been quite the conversation. Not that you’d understand it.” 

Ignis tries to imagine a conversation with Titan. He suspects it wouldn’t go much differently. 

Noct’s discomfort seems to rise with Ardyn’s every word. Ignis rests a hand on Noct’s knee, in a gesture of comfort--and almost pulls back for the imprudence of it, but Noct relaxes slightly, so he lets it stay. Anything to lessen Noct’s burden. And if it is not unpleasant--well, so much the better.

“I don’t suppose you’re any more inclined to share your knowledge with us,” Ignis says.

Ardyn smiles. “You don’t suppose correctly,” he says. “I’m helping you out enough as it is. Whatever would the emperor say if he knew I had a friendly chat with the prince of Lucis?”

“Why _are_ you helping us, then?” Noct asks. “Don’t try that ‘doing your duty for the Crown’ bullshit.”

“A fit of caprice, perhaps,” Ardyn says airily. “Or perhaps I’m the secret leader of a rebellion against the Empire. Or perhaps I’d hate to see the lives of such fascinating specimens be snuffed out too soon. I don’t much care to tell you. Figure it out yourselves, if you like.”

Ignis has been trying to figure it out, in fact, ever since their meeting in Lestallum. But he hasn’t been able to pinpoint it. Too much of Ardyn is slippery, uncertain; he can’t get a read on him at all, and he’s certain Ardyn knows it. For all Ignis can tell, Ardyn may very well be doing this for his own amusement. It’s as good an explanation as any.

“There is another thing I find myself curious about,” Ardyn says. “Am I truly the only source of information on this that you have?”

Ignis almost wants to tell Noct not to answer. Gentiana may wish to keep it a secret. But there is nothing preventing Ardyn from dropping them off back at the Disc, or some other place of danger. And surely a messenger of the gods is capable of taking care of herself.

“No,” Noct says eventually.

Ardyn raises an eyebrow. “Do tell me who it is, then.”

“…Gentiana,” Noct says, though saying it seems to pain him.

Ardyn steeples his fingers. “Oh, that _is_ interesting,” he says, with an unpleasant grin. “The Messenger herself saw fit to tell you?”

“She didn’t say very much,” Noct says shortly. 

“What a shame,” Ardyn says, sighing. “I should very much have liked to hear her opinions on it. As one so, ah, _close_ to the Astrals, she would have seen the dawn of its use in Lucis. Why, her perspective is invaluable. How curious that she said so little to you. But such are the ways of the gods.”

“Doesn’t matter how little she said, she was still a lot nicer about it than _you_ are,” Noct says, his mouth curling down.

Ardyn puts one hand on his chest with a small surprised gasp. “I have been the very _pinnacle_ of politeness to you young gentlemen,” he says. “There’s no call to be so _sassy_ about it.”

“Pardon us for trusting the messenger of the gods more than the chancellor of Niflheim,” Ignis says coolly. “For all we know, everything you told us is a lie.”

Ardyn gives a melodramatic sigh. “I suppose you’ve a point there,” he says. “Moral ambiguity is so tricky to pull off. And I’m sure you three are dreadfully wary towards any perceived threat to your dear prince. It’s not to the point of obsession yet, is it? You do seem capable of allowing him outside.”

Ignis does not change his expression, does not give any outward sign that he’s reacting at all to Ardyn’s latest statement. In truth, there have been occasional slight flickers--easily quashed, and quickly repressed, but present nonetheless--of thinking that it would be easier, if Noct’s responsibilities were to disappear or be dealt with by someone else, so they could keep him safe without concerns that by doing so they were putting all of humanity in danger. But _easier_ is not _better,_ and Noct wouldn’t want to be locked away from the world. The three of them would rather die than let that happen.

…currently.

Noct snorts. “Yeah, that totally doesn’t sound like you’re trying to mess with us,” he says.

“And yet, your retainers seem curiously quiet on the subject,” Ardyn says mildly.

Noct crosses his arms and gives Ardyn a heavy stare. “Whatever this is turning them into, I trust them,” he says, his voice hard. “I’m not going to _stop_ trusting them just because the imperial chancellor thinks it’d be fun to get under our skin. Are we there yet?”

Ardyn pouts. “Oh, you’re no fun,” he says sadly. “I’m merely trying to help you, your highness. But I suppose if I’m not wanted I shall leave you be for now.” He stands up and bows, utterly unconvincing, and saunters over to the cockpit, leaving the chair behind.

Noct exhales. Gladio puts a hand on his shoulder. “Anyone else feel like sleeping for a week?” Noct says tiredly.

“Perhaps not quite that long, but if Ardyn follows through on dropping us off somewhere near civilization, a rest is certainly in order,” Ignis says. He doesn’t feel terribly tired himself, at least not physically, but the day’s had its share of mental strain, and he’d be happier knowing Noct was comfortable.

“Cheer up, buddy,” Prompto says, reaching over to pat Noct’s other knee. “We got a lot done today! I think. Well, we got _something_ done today. And your headaches are probably over now.”

It’s the first time Prompto has spoken since Ardyn’s dropship appeared in the Disc. Ignis can still feel the lingering stress in his mind, but Noct likely wouldn’t notice. 

Noct smiles, just a little, and much of the stress disappears. Ignis relaxes a little as well, and so does Gladio. “Point,” he says. “I just hope this is what Luna wanted. It’d suck if she went to all that effort talking to Titan if what she actually wanted was for me to make nice with him.”

A few moments pass in comfortable silence, then Gladio winces and claps the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Aw, hell, I just realized something,” he says.

Ignis frowns. “What is it?” he asks.

“What the hell are we going to do about the car?”

\---

Noctis doesn’t sleep for a week, when they arrive at the chocobo post that evening and pay the caravan fee. Only, like, twelve hours. When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is Prompto, sitting on the opposite bed and looking at the camera with a pensive expression on his face.

“Morning,” Noctis says sleepily, raising a hand in a halfhearted wave. “What time is it?”

Prompto perks up instantly. “Morning!” he says. “About 9, I think. Iggy’s waiting to make breakfast until you’re up. How’re you feeling?”

Noctis sits up on the bed and yawns, rubbing one of his eyes. “I’m all right,” he says. “Breakfast sounds good.” He pauses, blinks a few times, and then lets out a weary sigh.

“Just remembered the situation, huh?” Prompto asks with a sympathetic half-smile.

“Yeah,” Noctis replies. He rubs his other eye. “Breakfast sounds _really_ good.”

Prompto stands up, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the top bunk. “I’ll tell the others you’re awake,” he says. “Take your time. We are literally not going anywhere.”

As Prompto leaves, Noctis stares at the caravan floor. Memories of yesterday are filtering into his mind; headaches, unbearable heat, Titan, a vision of Luna, internally fuming at Ardyn, three comforting touches. Ardyn waving goodbye from the dropship, just far enough away from the chocobo post and just late enough for the night’s first few daemons to bubble up while they were walking. Falling into bed and deciding to deal with it all tomorrow. Someone’s hand carding through his hair.

That last one was nice, at least.

With a groan, he pushes away the blanket and stands up, stretching his arms behind his head. Tomorrow’s here, time to deal with it.

After a quick shower and getting dressed, Noctis leaves the caravan. He waves to the others, who are sitting at the table and looking significantly more awake than he feels. “Morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” Ignis says. “Feeling better, I hope?”

Noctis sits down next to them and rests his head on the table. “I was, until I remembered we’re stuck here with no car,” he says. 

Ignis pats his head and stands up. “I’ll get breakfast ready,” he says. “Do try to stay awake.”

“No promises,” Noctis mumbles.

“Remember that time in high school when you got sick and actually _did_ sleep for like a week?” Prompto asks. “And then when you came back you were all grumpy because being sick meant you couldn’t appreciate it?”

Noctis yawns again. “And then _you_ got sick and kept texting me about how miserable you were,” he replies. It’d been senior year, and he was so used to having Prompto around that going almost two weeks barely seeing him had felt wrong, somehow. He’d reread those texts a lot. 

“Oh, the good old days,” Prompto says, resting his chin on his hand and staring pensively into the distance. A chocobo within sight range shuffles to the side with a nervous _kweh._

Breakfast ends up being pancakes-- _lots_ of pancakes, now that the hunger thing is out in the open and the others aren’t trying to be stoic about it. It’s weirdly impressive, watching them eat. Out of the corner of his eye, Noctis catches Wiz watching in horrified fascination. He gives him a wave and a bright smile, and Wiz just shakes his head and goes back to tending the birds.

Once that’s all done, Ignis clasps his hands together on the table and says, in a firm tone, “And now, the matter of the Regalia.”

“I’ll bet you anything Ardyn’s got it somewhere,” Prompto says, his mouth turning down. “Either he ordered some troopers to pick it up while he was taking us here, or he got it himself afterwards, but either way, no way it’s where we left it.”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, nodding. “Our best bet’s probably to ask Cindy to send the word out. Plenty of hunters pass through Hammerhead. Don’t know how long that would take, though.”

“It wouldn’t be immediate, no,” Ignis agrees. “How much of a hurry are we in?” They all look at Noctis. Simultaneously. It’s actually kind of creepy.

“Well, a day or two would be fine,” Noctis hedges. “We could do some hunts around here while we wait. And it’s not like we have any real plans, anyway. Besides checking in with Iris.”

Prompto stretches his arms out and cracks his fingers together. “A couple days at a chocobo post is A-OK with me,” he says. “Maybe if we spend a little more time with the birds they’ll get used to us.”

“Then our course of action is settled,” Ignis says. “I’ll call Cindy. Noct, if you would ask Wiz about any hunts in the area?”

Noctis nods and stands up, feeling less tired after the food. He meanders over to Wiz, who nods in greeting.

“G’morning,” Wiz says. “Bunch of growing boys, eh?”

Noctis shrugs. “We were pretty busy yesterday,” he says, which is at least true. “Not a lot of time to eat.”

“You hunters don’t live easy lives, I’ll give you that much,” Wiz says sympathetically. 

“Speaking of hunting, you got anything for us?” Noctis asks, glancing down at the fliers on the table. “We’ll be staying for a couple days, probably.”

Wiz picks up the fliers and rifles through them. “Let’s see here,” he says. “Voreteeth, daemons…a few things. Got a good payout for some mindflayers in the Nebulawood, if you’re up for it.”

Noctis weighs how much he knows about mindflayers against how much he’d like to stay at the Leville again when they go back to Lestallum, and comes up heavily in favor of the latter, and says, “Sure, sounds doable.”

Noctis doesn’t actually know anything about mindflayers.

Noctis _learns,_ when it’s pitch black out and the mists of the Nebulawood fog up what little visibility there is, and even after the bodies dissipate his head is still muddled and his body still feels on the verge of collapse, that maybe he should have asked somebody.

He mumbles something incoherent as he leans against a large mossy rock in an attempt to not fall over. It’s nice moss. Very soothing. Not as soothing as the remedy Prompto helpfully pours over his head, but still nice.

“Thanks,” he says, though it turns into a yawn halfway through.

“No problem, buddy,” Prompto replies, squeezing his shoulder. “You did good, though! Just, uh, maybe next time let’s do the voreteeth, all right?”

“Agreed,” Gladio grunts. He cricks his neck. “Give me an honest fight over any of that magic shit any day.”

Noctis almost says something, but catches a glance at Ignis, and stops. A faint discomfort filters into his mind. Ignis isn’t really _doing_ anything, just looking a bit concerned and pressing fingers against his jaw, but something feels off.

“Something up, Specs?” Noctis asks, trying to just sound casual instead of the increasing unease that he feels.

Ignis frowns. “I would like to say it’s just an idle twinge, but we’ve learned to be wary of unexpected physiological changes,” he says. “There’s a bit of an ache in my jawbones. Nothing serious yet, however.”

“We better head back before it _gets_ serious,” Gladio says warily. “There might be other hunters around. We don’t want other people to see if anything happens.”

“And the hunt’s done, anyway, so we don’t have any reason to stick around,” Prompto says, nodding. 

“All right, let’s get going,” Noctis says, two seconds before black sludge starts bubbling up from the ground in front of them.

With a bitten-off curse, he summons a sword, and the others follow suit. It isn’t another mindflayer, though, or one of the thunder bombs that are supposed to be in the area, or even an iron giant-- a tall, robed humanoid figure rises up and draws its blade, and Noctis might not have known anything about mindflayers, but he’s heard about these.

All traces of sleepiness vanish as he blocks a sudden strike, the aramusha’s sword darting out in a deadly gleam. _At least there’s only one,_ he thinks. _We can probably take it if there’s only one._ But it’s hard to see in the fog, and the aramusha is _fast,_ and Noctis finds himself narrowly sidestepping a blow that almost sliced him in two.

The moment it misses, it instead turns to Ignis, who parries its next attack instantly but looks a little unsteady on his feet; that faint discomfort from earlier heightens, sharpens, as Noctis feels a stronger echo of the pain Ignis is currently feeling. The connection is still weak enough that Noctis can’t tell what it feels like for Ignis, but he’s getting the impression it’s not good.

It takes only an instant--one second too late, one dagger not quite in position yet, and the aramusha’s sword goes straight through Ignis’ stomach, and the pain blazes bright for just a moment before Ignis must have managed to cut off the projection. But Noctis doesn’t need to feel physical pain for a shock of ice to shoot through his veins as the aramusha lifts up its sword, Ignis still impaled--

A few things happen very quickly.

Ignis’ hands blacken and grip the blade. It shatters, though most of it is still through him. Gravity strikes, letting him drop onto the aramusha, claws sinking into its shoulders. It hisses, and Ignis--

\--Ignis’ lips draw back, and back, farther up the sides of his face than they should be able to. His teeth sharpen and elongate, and more of them erupt from his jaws, more than any human. Not the fangs of an animal, but the long, spiny teeth of a deep-sea creature, splitting his face almost in two. With a roar that makes Noctis shudder and clap his hands over his ears, he wrenches back the aramusha’s head and tears its throat out with one bite.

The aramusha falls with a gargled screech. Ignis pulls out his claws and lands in front of it, slightly hunched over, breathing heavily. With one clawed hand, he pulls the remains of the sword out of him and lets it fall to the ground. A ray of moonlight cuts through the clouds and the fog, illuminating him, and--he doesn’t look human at all. He looks like the kind of creature they’d be sent to kill. 

Behind the glasses, his eyes are all black. Oily ichor, not quite dissolved yet, still drips from his teeth and claws. His head is still split nearly in half, spiky teeth jutting out all along it. Noctis’ own head begins to ache, and he dimly registers that the air has the same greasy feeling it did in the tent when they first discovered all of this.

Ignis isn’t moving, just watching them, warily, his heavy breath leaving clouds in the cold air. As the aramusha dissipates, so does the ichor, but his expression is still the same--a predator deciding whether or not it needs another kill.

“Iggy?” Noctis says, uncertainly.

Ignis growls, low and threatening. Noctis can feel a fear response in the back of his head, but pushes it down.

Instead, he thinks, _it’s pointless if it kills me, it’s pointless if it kills me,_ and slowly walks forward.

“Noct--” Gladio starts, his voice rough, but Noctis puts up his hand in a _stop_ gesture and Gladio falls silent.

Ignis growls louder. Noctis’ mind is starting to lose focus, pain rippling through it, but he concentrates as hard as he can and keeps moving. 

He’s only a few steps away, now. He can’t push back the fear anymore; logic starts to fade, replaced by an almost animalistic instinct screaming at him to run. 

Ignis tenses. Noctis can feel Gladio and Prompto about to grab him and pull him back--

In one movement, he wraps his arms around Ignis and buries his face in his shoulder.

Ignis’ hiss reverberates through his body and his mind is almost incoherent, but he just holds tighter. _It’s pointless if it kills me, it’s pointless if it kills me, this is still Ignis and Ignis would rather die than--_

It seems like an eternity before he feels clawed hands on his back, tentatively returning the embrace. “That’s right,” Noctis whispers. “It’s me. You’re okay. We’re all safe now. You can stop.”

For just a moment, he can feel a tremble. Then the claws slowly retract, the hot breath by his ear evens out, and the arms around him tighten, like Ignis is afraid to let go.

_“Fuck,_ Noct,” Prompto says weakly from behind him. “That’s, like, the most stupidly reckless thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It worked, though,” Noctis says, staying where he is. Even in the nighttime chill, Ignis is warm. It’s weird, but now that the danger’s gone, he feels…safe. The certainty that Ignis would never hurt him rises stronger in his mind. 

Then he remembers that Ignis currently has a hole through his torso, and pulls back in a hurry, summoning an elixir from the armiger. “Shit, here, you need to heal,” he says urgently, pressing the bottle into Ignis’ hand.

Ignis’ face is curiously still. It’s back to normal, though, looks completely human, and he drinks the elixir without comment. The wound seals up fine, though the shirt and jacket are gonna need some work. Noctis’ shirt is pretty bloody too.

“Feeling all right?” Noctis asks, resting his hand on Ignis’ arm.

Ignis doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, eventually, he quietly says, “It is oddly comforting to know that daemons taste terrible.”

“Oh thank the Six, I was worried we would start eating them someday,” Prompto says fervently. 

Ignis gives a very thin smile. “At this point, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” he says.

Ignis is handling it a lot better than Noctis thought he would--he mostly just seems tired, not panicking and blaming himself. Which is easier to deal with, but kinda disconcerting--are they just getting used to it? Is this their life now? 

“Hey, Iggy,” Noctis starts, and stops. He isn’t sure what to say.

“Strong emotions do nothing for the situation,” Ignis says quietly. “All they do is temporarily worsen our mental state, and I would rather avoid that. Right now, our best course of action is to return to the post, to lessen the chance of encountering more daemons along the way.”

Noctis lets go. He wishes he could do something, anything--but there’s nothing. Their loyalty to him is what got them into this mess. He knows they don’t blame him, but maybe they should, a little. 

Gladio slings his arm around Ignis’ shoulders while they walk back. Neither of them say anything. 

When they’re finally back in the safety and seclusion of the caravan, Ignis exhales and says, “I suspect it had no particular trigger this time. Like the first appearance of the claws, it was more to show its existence. With any luck, when it manifests with you two, you’ll know what to look out for and deal with it accordingly.”

Prompto sits down on one of the lower bunks and gives a little nervous laugh. “Totally looking forward to that,” he says.

Gladio leans against a wall, his arms crossed. “We can handle it,” he says. “Now that we know it’s coming, it won’t catch us off-guard. If it’s like it was with the claws, Prompto and I’ll probably get it soon, so maybe we should stay in tomorrow. Or at least not leave the post, so we can get back to the caravan if we feel it coming on.”

Noctis thinks about spending a whole day in a caravan, and vastly agrees with staying at the post in general. Of course, technically _he_ wouldn’t have to. But he’d feel even guiltier if they were restricted and he wasn’t. And it’s not like they’re going anywhere anyway.

Six, he hopes it’s dealt with by the time Cindy calls.

He doesn’t get much sleep that night. He doesn’t think any of them do.

He dreams about teeth in the darkness, and in a bed meant for one person, there’s no one to make it stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Anglerfish](https://www.google.com/search?q=anglerfish&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiEpdSu-cTZAhWBKGMKHXxvDdQQ_AUICigB&biw=1600&bih=786) are pretty freaky-looking.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [futuresoon](www.futuresoon.tumblr.com).


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